What Nettles Me
by SrpiaEahn
Summary: An exploration of one possible way Gale Hawthorne and Madge Undersee could have interacted before his famous 'Pretty Dress' comment on Reaping Day of the 74th Hunger Games. Set primarily in the school of District 12. Complete.
1. September

** Hello hello to all the Gadger-Badgers out there! This is my very first Gadge story, written very hastily late last night. The writing is messy, the premise sounds meh, but I really hope that this story will write itself. I'm going in completely blind, and I hope you will join me!**

**Disclaimer: the world and the main characters belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**_"That's what nettles me. It's the implication that there's something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don't like it."_**

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><p>Our senior class makes its way down to the courtyard for the first school assembly of the term. The first to fifth years are already there, restlessly talking amongst themselves and looking like they'd rather be in the classroom than sitting outdoors on this chilly autumn morning. As we make our way past them I spot Rory guffawing with his friends, who I have deemed too pretty to be boys, then flicking his eyes to Primrose Everdeen, who is chatting animatedly with a group of girls. He catches my smirk, but pretends not to have seen me as he tells the pretty boys what is probably an immature, semi-dirty joke that only first year boys find hilarious. They laugh of course, wild raucous laughter that causes Prim to turn and raise her eyebrow appraisingly. She looks so much like Katniss at that moment that I chuckle and shake my head. You've got much to learn about girls, Rory Hawthorne, especially if the girl is the beloved younger sister of Katniss Everdeen.<p>

Thom waves me over and slaps my shoulder good-naturedly as I slump onto seat beside him. "How are you coping with Mrs Ogilby?" he asks in mock concern.

I shrug. "I just imagine telling her one day how good a kisser her daughter is."

Thom grins deviously, "Want me to tell her too?"

"Do you want to kill her?" My arm pays for my tongue when Thom punches me.

"I'm just saying!"

To tell the truth, Mrs Ogilby's daughter, Miranda Ogilby, is as much of a slut as much as Katniss Everdeen is a people person. She is a Merchant girl who dates boys, which is kind of expected of Merchant girls and even normal girls, Katniss being the exception. Thom dated Miranda in third year, and I couldn't give him crap about it because I grudgingly agreed that Miranda is one of the nicest-looking Merchant girls. She isn't giddy or too proper like the other girls either, which is why I asked her to go with me to the New Year's party this year.

Okay, that wasn't the only reason. The party was held in the town and I couldn't go unless I went with someone from there. But I still asked her didn't I? A Townie. THAT is brave. And hypocritical.

Thom is about to hit me with what he must think is the wittiest comeback of the whole morning, when Mrs Ogilby marches up and barks at us to be quiet, which only makes us both snicker.

We are silenced by the piercing screech of the microphone's feedback, pulling everyone's hands over their ears as they swear under their breaths. The principal, Mr Talon, taps the microphone again stupidly, and it squeaks and scrapes against our eardrums once more. What an idiot. And who wears a bowtie to school?

"He-hello. Good morning," he stammers, swallowing nervously before continuing, "Welcome back to a new term. I trust you all enjoyed the 73rd Hunger Games and the Victory Tour stop last week."

He goes on to praise the Gamemakers for a heart-stopping Hunger Games, how interesting the arena looked, and finally stating how proud we should all be for our tributes. I clench my jaw. Muscida Reymond and Harris Westaff were District 12's tributes for this year's Hunger Games. They were both from the Seam, and my mother knows Harris' parents. They should be here today, sitting with the rest of the school on uncomfortable metal chairs, complaining about the crazy amount of homework the teachers have given them even though it's only the second week of school. But they haven't been given the chance to.

Mr. Talon shields his eyes from the bright but useless sun and squints in our direction. "Ah, seniors!" he exclaims, waving to all of us. No one waves back. "Congratulations on making it this far! After this, school will be just as memory. Unfortunately, even I will become just a memory. Excited? I know I would be!" He concludes this inspiring pep talk by chortling to himself, and the microphone shrieks in response. There are a few giggles from the student body and I roll my eyes, unable to comprehend that this man has been entrusted with leading thousands of young people into adulthood.

After awkwardly recovering from the disapproval of his trusty microphone, our principal drones on with the speech he prepared in advance, and I tune out. My eyes scan the rows for a familiar dark braid and when I find it, I blink twice to make sure I am not dreaming up the scene in front of me. The normally hostile owner of the braid is _actually_ sitting with another human being, and a blonde one at that. A Townie. A Townie with silky blonde waves that tumble just past her shoulders. I strain my neck to try and get a glimpse of her face. If her face matches her hair, she must be lovely.

Why haven't I seen her before?

My heart picks up its pace when the girl turns to her left, but I only catch sight of her nose. Her other features are obscured by her loose hair, which catches the sunlight as it shivers in the breeze. While I wouldn't be complaining all other times, at this moment I wish it were in a neat braid like Katniss'. It is a good nose though, I think before I catch myself.

When she faces the front again, I slump a little too hard onto the back of the chair. Thom eyes me weirdly and raises his eyebrows to ask what's going on. I shake my head and lock my eyes on the stage, where Mr. Talon is squirming as he tries to tell jokes that nobody is laughing at apart from a few polite teachers.

Later, I tell myself, later.

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><p><strong>What do you think? Please review and let me know!<strong>

**- Sera**


	2. Still September

**A big thanks to you lovely Gadger-Badgers who read and reviewed and subscribed etc etc.**

**Here is the next instalment! I hope you enjoy it.**

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><p><strong>Later<strong>

I shoot out of my seat the minute we are dismissed and push through the slow-moving crowd, who has had all their energy sapped by Mr. Talon. I keep my eye on Katniss, hoping she hasn't separated from the Merchant girl, and sigh in relief when I see the blonde head bobbing next to her. I don't even think about Thom until I am a few feet behind them, and groan when I realize that I will have to explain this to him later.

I finally break into a sort-of clearing and call out, "Catnip!"

Katniss hates it when I use my nickname for her in public, so it is sure to garner her immediate attention. It works; she whips around with a scowl on her face. "What?"

Unfortunately, the girl doesn't stop. In fact, her steps become more hurried. Huh.

I try to hide my disappointment by smirking at Katniss. She decides that I'm just being stupid and turns around. I fall into step beside her with the smile still plastered on my face. She ignores me but doesn't quicken her stride.

"Not so hostile anymore, are you?" I ask.

Katniss glares at me and I laugh at the ridiculousness of my statement. "What are you talking about, Gale?" she sighs, like a mother who's tired of dealing with her child's antics.

"You weren't sitting alone today," I point out. "Is Katniss Everdeen actually making a friend?"

Katniss rolls her eyes but doesn't comment. In Katniss language, it means she doesn't disagree, in other words: yes.

I press further, "Is she from Town?" I hope I sound as casual as I picture myself to be.

Katniss must think I'm here to scorn and make disparaging comments at her choice of friends, because she fixes a steely gaze on me and replies, "Yes." Her chin juts forward slightly, daring me to make fun of her.

"Anyone I know?" I ask.

"No, Gale. For all I know, the Mayor's daughter has certainly not been to the slag heap and is too smart to ever bother," Katniss snaps a little too proudly for my liking, like she's better than anyone who's ever ventured to the infamous make-out spot of District 12.

I would have snapped back if her answer didn't shock me so much. I am stunned into silence, which is pretty rare for me since I've inherited my mother's sharp wits, and Katniss adds rather defensively, "And I've known Madge since we were six."

_Madge._ The scattered thoughts in my brain collide and merge into this one word. Madge Undersee. The shy, gawky girl we sell strawberries to on occasion.

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><p>I remember the first time Katniss suggested picking strawberries for the Mayor's daughter. I balked at the idea and told her she'd gone crazy. Selling fresh strawberries to the Mayor, rubbing the fact that we've been over the fence in his face, did she have an early death wish? But Katniss bagged the ripest ones anyway, and the next thing I knew, we were standing at the backdoor of the Mayor's house. How Katniss knew to go there I had no idea, but she seemed calm as she rapped firmly on the door twice. I was the opposite; I stuffed my hands in my pockets to wipe my sweaty palms, my body was tense like a deer that sensed a drawn arrow close by. The door opened swiftly, and I was surprised to see a skinny blonde girl on the other side of it. Judging by the way her blue eyes widened, she mirrored my sentiments exactly. She recovered first and assumed a quiet, polite tone that I had imagined a Mayor's daughter would use. "Hi Katniss, hi Gale."<p>

Her simple switch helped me compose myself. It put us all in our respective places: she was a wealthy Town person, and we were from the Seam. I didn't like the Townfolk, and Madge fell into that category so her presence should irk me. Not surprise me with her modest pajamas, a loose white t-shirt and light blue shorts. I had expected something like a Capitol-ordered silk nightgown that cost as much as twenty bags of sugar. Her hair was pulled back hastily in a ponytail that was mussed from sleep, and nothing about her screamed 'Town'.

My face was devoid of emotion when I nodded curtly in response to her greeting, hoping my lack of manners would rattle her and bring out the real Madge Undersee. She would eye me disapprovingly, make an airy remark about the Seam upbringing, and I would have one solid reason to direct my hatred at her perfect life. She did nothing of the sort, which nettled me even more. I resorted to looking bored, to look at anything but her, and yawned obnoxiously to show my reluctance at being there.

Katniss' eyes flitted to me for a second but she didn't comment. "Hi Madge, strawberries are in season." She held out the brown bag, and I heard the crinkling sound of paper as Madge accepted the strawberries.

"Thank you," she said. I could hear a small smile in her voice. "How much?"

"Four dollars."

Madge nodded and unzipped her purse. "Here, keep the change."

Katniss shook her head, "No Madge, it's fine." Her voice sounded too civil to be coming from someone who absolutely detested being pitied, by a Merchant girl no less.

I clicked my gaze on Madge. "We don't need your charity, Miss Undersee," I said through gritted teeth, sounding a lot more hostile than I had intended.

"That's not what I-"

"We do an honest trade. We accept no more, no less than the amount stated. So save those extra coins for a new shirt." I swept my gaze appraisingly down her messy appearance, and she blushed, looking like she wished the ground would swallow her whole right there. A sick part of me rejoiced. The other part that questioned the rightness of my actions tried to pull itself out of the recesses of my mind, but it was overpowered like always.

Then her blue eyes snapped up, and I was taken aback by the fury they held. "The five dollar note is the only thing I have in my purse," she said quietly, her voice laced with anger than she was trying hard to suppress.

Katniss sighed and took the money from Madge's hand. "Thank you, Madge. We're going to go now." I was tugged fiercely away from the Mayor's backdoor, from his daughter, and hoped that Katniss would think twice now about selling strawberries to someone who obviously looked down on us. Little did I know that I would walk away from that backdoor many more times, grated for no reason at all by the meek girl who stood behind it.

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><p>"And I've known Madge since we were six," Katniss says.<p>

"Wait, Madge? Madge Undersee? That was her?" I ask, not bothering to hide my astonishment.

"Yes, Gale," she says slowly, enunciating every word as if she's talking to a three-year-old, "We've been selling her strawberries since the end of last year. You don't like her and never fail to show it to her face. That Madge."

I try to ignore the guilt evoked by Katniss' accusation at my treatment of Madge, which hasn't been very commendable of late. Shrugging, I say simply, "Couldn't recognize her with her hair down." It is a half-truth, at least.

Katniss rolls her eyes like I'm the world's biggest dumbass, "See you later, Gale."

She runs to join the other fourth years, and I am suddenly left with an extremely curious Thom, who swings an arm around my neck and waggles his eyebrows, "Madge Undersee, huh?"

"Eavesdropping, I see," I glare at him. "I thought I_ left_ you back there."

"I caught up and couldn't help but overhear-"

I groan and jerk his arm off, stalking off toward the general direction of my classroom.

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><p><strong>Please let me know what you think :) Reviews are greatly appreciated!<strong>

**- Sera**


	3. October

**Thank you for your kind reviews :) Here is the next chapter. I hope you like it.**

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><p><strong>October<strong>

I don't see Madge at all after that Wednesday morning. Lunchtimes for the seniors, the fifth and sixth years, differ from the rest of the secondary school. I can't 'coincidentally' run into her in the hallways, because fourth years still have all their classes in one classroom. I could linger at the front gates after school, but that would surely warrant unnecessary web weaving for Katniss' sake. I could tell Katniss that I'm waiting for her, but she would ask why and I won't have an answer.

I run my hand over my face. _This is absurd. The whole thing is absurd._ A few months ago, Madge Undersee was beneath my notice, save for a few scathing remarks which probably never penetrated her diamond-hard exterior. She was just a Merchant girl who bought strawberries from us. End of story.

A long-ago detail prods me, sharp and insistent, drawing my eyebrows together. I didn't take any note of it before, but Katniss _knew _at the time that Madge liked strawberries. She must have already been friends with Madge then, or even before. I was just too caught up in my own world of secret parties and secret girls to notice. And, if I were to admit to myself, I was also somewhat pleased and proud of the fact that Katniss only had me to lean on, and didn't give her any other option. Remorse and shame punches me in the gut, and I fist my hands until they shake.

Beside me, Thom is busy winking at his ex-kissing partners, which consist of most of the senior female population, meriting him a lot of eye-rolls and scoffs, to which he simply beams. There is an occasional sly smile back, but it's only Hesta Peyton and those other girls who have a reputation for being, well, casual. We make our way to the benches and sit behind two third-year Town boys who keep sniggering and looking back at us pointedly. I hear the words "Seam-trash" and "get their clothes from the tip" and my arm goes taut. Reason escapes me as hot white anger surges through my body. _Who cares if they are three years younger? Let's see how fast their jaws can move when I'm through with them. _

Thom senses this and holds me to the seat with a forceful hand on my shoulder. "There's going to be enough fighting and blood to last us through the day," he says, reminding me of the wrestling competition we've come to the school gymnasium for.

I unclench my fist and turn my head to the doors as a distraction from my anger. As more and more people begin trailing in, my breaths slow, then stop altogether when Madge Undersee walks in.

I am transfixed; I drink in everything I have missed in the last two weeks. The way her small hands fold tightly in front of her, her straight posture that is so unlike mine, her golden hair rebelliously slipping out of her loose side braid, and her blue, blue eyes that shift anxiously around for a seat, and finally meet mine. I don't miss the blush that creeps to her cheeks. How can I, I've been anticipating the same blush every time I aim a low blow at her at her doorstep. I find that I like it, the pink that adds color to her pale skin, that makes her look alive and real and breathing. For a moment, it makes me forget that she is just another Capitol-manufactured porcelain doll.

She breaks the connection after a few seconds and air rushes back into my lungs. The buzzing around me resumes as people continue to take their seats. My eyes follow her until she sits at the edge of a bench toward the back, and Katniss joins her. I look away.

A whistle blows and our gym teacher, Miss Fennel, stands on a raised circle platform in the centre of the room. After the formalities and welcomes, she gets straight into it and calls up the first two competitors: Peeta Mellark and Derian Porter.

"Bet?" Thom asks, holding out a rusty quarter.

I inspect the two boys who have stepped into the ring. Peeta Mellark is broad-shouldered and stocky. His father, the town's baker, buys our squirrels, and sometimes gives us fresh bread in exchange for our game. Katniss likes to go there first in the morning, I never ask her why, but I think it has to do with the witch of his wife.

Derian on the other hand, is a slimy git with slick black hair and a leering smile. He has a few inches on the baker's son, but he is lanky and I don't like him so I say, "Mellark."

Thom looks at me disbelievingly, waiting for me to tell him that I'm joking, and finally says "Okay, done." I don't miss the hint of suspicion in his voice.

Miss Fennel blows her whistle loudly, and the fight begins. The crowd erupts in cheers, most of them yelling out Derian's name, urging him on. I pin my eyes on Peeta Mellark and silently will him to do something. Anything.

Both boys tussle; arms locked, hands digging into shoulders, as they try to overpower the other. Derian's eyes are wild, his sneer taunting, as I see him mutter something to Peeta that makes a muscle twitch in his face. While Derian continues trying to break his opponent with goading words, Peeta uses Derian's distraction to shift his stance, and I see the look of horror I'm so used to seeing on prey cross Derian's face, freezing his sneer in place. Before he can move another muscle, Peeta has caught him behind his knee and pinned him down with a strong arm pressing his chin up. Derian's nose flares as he tries to struggle, but Miss Fennel slams her hand on the mat beside his head and yells, "Pinned! Round 1 goes to Peeta Mellark!"

I cross my arms and lean back, satisfied. Thom has his head in his hands, and I slap him twice on the back comfortingly. He grudgingly hands me the quarter.

Peeta Mellark wins three more rounds and enters the semi-finals. His brother, Rye, who is in Thom's class, also makes it. Rye is a large guy who started competing two years ago. If I remember correctly, he was pretty good, making the semi-finals on both occasions. His kid brother though, nobody knows anything of. I only recall seeing him at the counter of the bakery on some days, and he is a soft and smiley type of person, unlike his brother. Thom is no more than surprised, his mouth dropping every time Peeta manages to pin his opponent. I admit that after a few rounds, I am a bit surprised myself. I guess nobody expects the friendly boy behind the bakery counter to be so physically strong. Slowly, the crowd begins chanting Peeta's name when he steps onto the platform. They are not disappointed.

After about an hour (a lot of guys signed up this year), Miss Fennel announces the names of the semi-finalists, and dismisses us for a short intermission. Thom busies himself with a curvy brunette next to him, so I stroll outside alone. I lean against the wall on the left of the gymnasium doors with my hands in my pockets, the large doors concealing me. Most people have decided to stay inside, so the hallway is relatively quiet. Quiet enough for me to hear Derian's leering voice, no doubt trying to pick up another unfortunate female, and a soft voice that is unmistakably Madge Undersee's. I freeze.

"Come on, Madge, give a guy a chance," Derian coaxes.

Madge doesn't respond. There is a slapping sound of skin hitting skin as Derian grabs Madge. I clench my hands when I hear the scuffling of feet and fabric as Madge struggles against him.

"You don't have to play hard to get," he says seductively.

"Please step away from me, Derian," Madge says firmly, though I can hear the quiver in her voice, and I'm pretty sure Derian can too. I have an urge to knock some notion of self-preservation into her. Who uses 'please' when their safety is being threatened? Madge freaking Undersee, that's who.

I am about to do to Derian the many things I'm imagining, when he says, "Someday, Madge" and his footsteps fade into the chatter of the gymnasium.

I hear a sigh and push myself off the wall. Madge is facing away from me, straightening the front of her green dress. "Well, Miss Undersee, it seems as though I have underestimated you. Derian Porter. He's…charming." I say.

Madge whirls around, and I forget why I'm here. I haven't been in such a close proximity to her since the last time we were at her backdoor. With her parted lips and flushed cheeks, she is impossibly gorgeous. I have a sudden urge to free what's left of her poor excuse of a braid and kiss her. Then I note her mussed hair, and it is quickly replaced by the urge to punch the living daylights out of Derian. She catches my stare and tries to smoothen it, blushing furiously.

"What are you doing here?" she asks stiffly.

I shrug, "Nothing interesting. You, on the other hand…"

"I was doing nothing," she insists.

"No?" I cock my eyebrow. She casts her eyes down to her clasped hands. "It's alright, Miss Undersee, I won't tell another soul about your little 'adventure'."

This makes her squirm, raising my suspicions. "There is _nothing_ going on between me and him," she says, her volume escalating.

I roll my eyes. "Typical Merchant. Don't bother keeping up your innocent act. It won't work anymore. Not if you're running off with every sleazy scumbag you can get your hands on."

Her blue eyes are blazing when she looks at me. This is more like it. This spark is good. But I was never the type to settle for 'good'. I fan it. "Seems to me that Daddy's little girl isn't so saint-like after all."

Madge's hands clasp tighter, her green veins contrasting starkly to her translucent skin. She steps boldly forward, glaring, but the outburst I expect doesn't come. I look down and inhale sharply. Her defiant chin is now merely five inches from my chest, so close that I get a whiff of the faint scent of flowers and soap coming off her skin. Blue. Blue is all I see. The flame is blue. My eyes trail down to her nose, to the freckles that lightly dust it, and finally rest on her pale, pink lips. I swallow. Madge shifts uncomfortably and bites her bottom lip. This almost becomes my undoing. I feel my hand rise involuntarily…

"Gale!" a familiar high voice giggles. Long nails dig into my arm, and I reluctantly turn away from Madge to look into the hazel eyes of Miranda Ogilby.

"Miranda," I say. I see Madge take a breath out of the corner of my eye. Is she…relieved?

"Mmm, Gale," Miranda sighs, resting her head on my shoulder. She reeks of alcohol. I cup her chin and force her to meet my eyes. Her eyelids lift droopily as she smiles. "You're drunk." I say.

She laughs, a breathy high-pitched laugh, and shakes her head vigorously. The action causes her to sway, and I hold her against me. Her head goes limp. I turn to Madge, "Can you help me?"

A look of disbelief and hurt turns her eyes a deeper shade of blue, but it is gone so quickly that I think I must have imagined it. Without a word, she crosses to Miranda's side and drapes her arm across her shoulders.

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><p><strong>Your reviews mean a lot to me so please keep them coming! :)<strong>

**- Sera**


	4. Still October

**Ahh thank you all for your lovely encouragements! Here is the next chapter! **

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><p><strong>Still October<strong>

As we make our way slowly to the school's entrance, Madge keeps shifting Miranda's arm and darting her eyes to the drunken girl's boots_. _

"Pretty shoes," I quip.

Madge's head snaps up and her eyes narrow, trying to evaluate my civil comment. "Yes, they are," she says. Silence again as we take a few steps. I almost suggest asking her Daddy the Mayor to buy her a pair, when her eyebrows knit together and she stops to readjust Miranda back to an upright stance.

I sigh.

Her eyebrows dip more. "What?" she snaps.

"Should've known better than to ask you for help," I mutter, reaching over to pull Miranda off her weak frame, only to get my hand swatted away. _What the-_

"What is that supposed to mean?" she fires. She points to Miranda's feet. "I'm trying to keep her other foot from dragging on the ground."

I look down, and sure enough, Miranda's right foot is hovering above the ground while her left foot curls in a painful angle against the floor. I sigh again. Why do the Undersees have to be so short?

"Not everyone's privileged enough to reach the height of a Neanderthal," Madge mutters.

I cough and splutter and Madge looks away, tapping her foot idly as if waiting to pass the time. Freaking Undersee. I clench my teeth and glare at her tapping foot, then at her perfect face and perfect lips that have probably never been in want. "_You're_ talking to me about privilege? That's rich, Miss Undersee."

Madge looks as if she's about to spit out another lovely Neanderthal-esque thought when Miranda moans. Her head conveniently migrates from my shoulder to my chest, and Madge becomes preoccupied with the locker beside her. I unceremoniously push Miranda off my chest and her head lolls, fanning her wild hair over her face. I shuffle forward and Madge tries (unsuccessfully) to keep up with my long strides. _Good._

Our footsteps echo in the empty hallway as I walk and Madge half-runs toward the head office, where the nurse's station is. I've lost count of the number of times I've been to see the nurse for fight wounds; you can say I am quite well acquainted with her. And the discipline master.

"Where are we taking her?" Madge pipes up.

_Is she being serious?_ I squint at her and she swallows. The seconds tick by, and she doesn't laugh or tell me she's joking. She must really be daft.

"The sick bay," I say. I tug on Miranda, who has gained a ton of weight in the space of ten seconds because she doesn't budge. I glance back and it is Madge who has stopped and is staring at me with wide eyes.

"You can't bring her to the sick bay!" she says.

I begin to regret asking her for help. "Yes, I can," I say.

"So you're just going to just dump her there? Do you know how much trouble she'll be in?"

"Precisely why I'm dumping her there. She's none of my business," I shrug.

Madge looks very offended for someone who also has no long-standing business here either. Her hand rises as if to say something, but it falls away at the last minute and she closes her eyes like she's trying to gather what's left of her patience. When she opens her eyes, her voice is calm again. "We'll take her to my house. My father's out and our housekeeper will know what to do. She's responsible for Haymitch's sober days. Well, almost-sober." The corner of her lips lift at her own joke, then she locks her arm around Miranda's waist and walks toward me.

"And how are we going to walk out of the front gates without getting caught?" I challenge.

"You'll see," she says.

We pause at the fourth year lockers, and Madge holds up a finger to instruct me to wait, turns the dial on the lock and swings the locker door open. She rummages through her bag and pulls out…something. A bottle of some kind. Must be a Town thing.

Madge uncaps it and starts spraying the contents on Miranda and me. "What the hell?" I roar, swinging my arm wildly and making her jump.

Madge looks from me to the bottle in her hand, connecting the dots. I brace myself for the condescending remark, her eyes mocking as she sneers, "You don't know what _this_ is?"

But it doesn't come. "It's deodorant. To mask the smell of alcohol," she says.

Just that. Not even a definition of the word 'deodorant', no assumption that I have no idea what it is, even though I don't and she probably knows it.

When we finally reach the head office, Madge unhooks the arm from her neck and leads Miranda to a seat.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, taking the chance to extract my arm from Miranda and sit two chairs away from her.

Madge smiles. She has never smiled at me before. "Just wait here."

She strides into the office before I can protest.

_Crazy girl._

I look through the glass of the office door. Madge lowers herself demurely on a chair in front of the receptionist, who mouths for Madge to wait 'just a moment' while she finishes the phone call. Madge nods and fiddles with the hem of her dress. For all that bravado, I can tell that she's actually nervous.

The receptionist, a mean woman with mousy brown hair and tired eyes, hangs up the phone and smiles. The smile looks out of place on her, like a stray puzzle piece that has been forcibly fitted to fill the gaping hole of a picture. "Miss Undersee, what can I help you with today?"

Madge responds with such a sugary "Please, call me Madge, Miss Redpath" that I do a double take to make sure the words came out of her mouth. I frown, trying to catch any giveaway sign as to what she is up to. Whatever she's doing though, it is clearly working; the receptionist visibly brightens at the extension of familiarity on Madge's part.

"How are your parents, Madge?" Miss Redpath inquires, smiling again.

Oh. Connection. So this was her plan.

"They're good," Madge says dismissively. "Miss Redpath, I'm here to ask for permission to leave school early. You see, my friend and I are going to my house to do an assignment together, but she's suddenly feeling very sick, so I want her to rest a little before we start the assignment. Is this okay?"

I don't approve of her flaunting her last name, but she is a skilled liar, I'll give her that. The worry in her voice is so genuine that I almost feel sorry for Miss Redpath, because she will not be able to escape this trap laid neatly out for her by master web-weaver, Madge Undersee.

"Oh, um," Miss Redpath adjusts her glasses and Madge leans in expectantly. I can only imagine what poor Miss Redpath is being subjected to: the full-force of those innocent blue eyes and the hopeful smile that says she knows Miss Redpath will do everything in her path to help her new friend, Madge.

She plays her cards well, I muse.

"I'm sure that's okay. I'll fill in a pass for you and your friend now," the receptionist says, flying straight into the web.

"Thank you so much," Madge breathes.

Miss Redpath starts filling out the form, and I can see her wheels turning already: _I hope the girl tells her father about the helpful receptionist at the school office. Maybe he'll give me a raise. Or even a higher position. _

The pen in her hand pauses. "What's your friend's name?"

Madge hesitates, but only for a split second. "Miranda Ogilby."

Recognition flickers across Miss Redpath's eyes, and she glances once at the slumping figure on the seat. Her eyes flit to me and narrow instantly.

Oh yes, I almost forgot, I am also acquainted with Miss Redpath. You could say that she is my escort. To the nurse and discipline master.

Miss Redpath mutters something to Madge and looks pointedly at me, which causes Madge to turn quickly in my direction. "Just a Seam boy I asked to help me," I hear her say dismissively.

I wait to see if Redpath buys it: a Town girl fraternising with a good-for-nothing Seam boy. She purses her lips and looks between Madge and I, but doesn't comment. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when she slides the piece of paper to Madge, who thanks her and gets up to leave.

"Hold on."

Madge freezes in her tracks. _Oh..crap…_

But Redpath only leans closer to Madge and whispers something to her. I catch the words, "The wrong kind of boy," and my jaw tightens.

Madge moves away and smiles, but it is an uncomfortable one that promises nothing. She walks toward the door and pushes it. I see the unmistakable glint of pride in her eyes as she looks at the paper clutched in her hands, and surprise myself by feeling glad for her, when she's just used her last name to manipulate the receptionist. I guess that unnecessary final comment from Redpath changed my mind.

Madge runs ahead to hold the door open for me as I press Miranda to my left side and walk. The chill of the autumn air reaches right through me and pulls any residual heat from my body. Madge rubs her arms, then reaches to help lighten my load. I shake my head. "It's easier if I carry her on my own." I hoist Miranda onto my back and grab under her knees, though there is nothing romantic about the gesture. In fact, when the Merchant wraps her arms automatically around my neck, she punches me on the cheek and nearly cuts off my airflow completely. Madge giggles and coughs when I glare at her, but her telltale blue eyes are bright with amusement. I start down the steps and hear her light footsteps as she runs after me. She touches my arm and I jerk away. She's freezing.

"Sorry," she mumbles, drawing her hand back and holding it down with the other, as if afraid that it would reach out to inflict cold on another unsuspecting human arm. Or just my arm. "Are you mad at me?"

Stupid questions get stupid answers, so I give her the best stupid answer there is: no answer at all. My hunting boots scrape on the road as we head in the direction of the square.

"Gale, I'm sorry that I used my father to get us out. It's not right, I know, and I've never done it before so I was afraid it wouldn't work. But that's the only thing I could think of, and I just wanted to help Miranda and your only idea was the sick bay-"

"Stop," I growl. "Stop talking, Madge."

She stops. Talking, walking, everything. Even breathing, judging from how still she is. _Definitely crazy_, I think.

_The loveliest form of crazy I have ever laid eyes on. _

"What?" I ask, a little too loudly, because my voice echoes off the archway that we pass through to enter the square.

It wakes her up though. She blinks slowly, so slowly that I wonder if she's going to pass out from the effort, and hurries over to me. She lifts her head to glance at me, and the blush is there again. But I can't appreciate it, my attention is drawn to her nose, red from the cold that pinches it, her quivering chin, and her chattering teeth. I almost shrug off my jacket, when I realise I'd be shrugging off more than jacket if I did. I let out a sharp breath.

"Are you okay?" Madge whispers in between chattering teeth. "I can help-"

"Stand close to me," I order and almost kick myself. _Lovely choice of words, Hawthorne. Could you sound any more like a creep?_

"Wha-"

"Just do it, you're cold." The understatement of the century.

"O-okay," she stutters. _It's the cold, not because she's as nervous as you are._

Her shoulder touches my rib and I begin to think this arrangement is keeping me warm instead of her. "Better?" I ask.

She nods.

As we walk, I question the wisdom of my suggestion, as my entire side is achingly aware of her small body pressed up against me like her life depended on it. All I can think about is what I would do if the red-haired baggage on my back disappeared. It involves the blonde girl next to me, lips, the brick wall of the back alley we're conveniently walking through-

Stop, Hawthorne. You're getting ahead of yourself.

The back of her pale hand touches my dark one.

Way, way ahead.

The relief is physical when we reach the familiar back door of the Mayor's house. I drop Miranda onto the woven chair on the porch and turn away to leave. When Madge touches my hand, I flinch; I don't need the reminder. She recoils, hurt, and adds coal to the fire when she says, "Thank you."

Polite. Distant. Town.

Unreachable.

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><p><strong>Your reviews always make my day so don't hesitate to leave a few words! <strong>

**Until next time,**

**- Sera**


	5. November

**Thank you for all your reviews! I really appreciate that 1. you're reading this, and 2. you're reviewing. **

**Here it is, the last chapter. Madge POV introduced, but only for a snippet.**

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><p><strong>November<strong>

I step out of the bathroom and raise my arms. "Well?"

Mae motions for me to twirl and I roll my eyes. Mae has been our family's housekeeper ever since I was a baby. She doesn't have any daughters, and has taken to fussing over me at any chance she gets. Like now. My sky blue dress rests just above my knee and I tug on the hem self-consciously as I turn on my heel. I can't believe I let my father talk me into going tonight. I can't believe I let Mae help me pick out a dress and curl my hair. When I face her again, she nods approvingly. "Beautiful. The boys will be falling at your feet left, right and centre, honey."

I ignore her and cross to my dressing table, picking out a light blue ribbon to match the dress. I slide it under my hair and cross the ends to pinch a low ponytail, only to have Mae snatch it from my fingers and bat my hands away. I am so startled that I just gape at her. She doesn't appear to notice, because she has transformed the ribbon into a simple headband and begins fluffing my hair, so that the curls cascade down the front. When she's satisfied with it, she meets my eyes in the mirror and smiles, "Don't want my hard work to go to waste." She pats my shoulder. "I'm going to check if the chicken's ready. I've put your shoes near the door."

She makes her way to the door. Before she closes it, she pokes her head in. "Madge?"

"Yes Mae?"

"Smile," she says, her eyes teasing. "You look like you're going to a funeral or something."

I lift my lips, and it must look painful because Mae laughs. She shuts the door behind her and I sigh at my reflection in the mirror. I look too…dolled up. I've never had my hair curled for a school event. But I guess it's because I've never been to a school event that is also social one, let alone the Harvest Festival Fair.

I have never wished that I were grounded so badly. If Katniss were going, I think I would actually be looking forward to it. It would be nice, exploring the fairgrounds and actually participating in a non-school related activity. Even though Katniss doesn't really like talking, I enjoy her company and take comfort in knowing that she doesn't expect me to start the conversation or sees me as the spoilt Mayor's daughter. Unlike other people.

And just like that, Gale Hawthorne is dominating my thoughts once again. I groan and drop my forehead to my hand. It completely slipped my mind that he's probably going to be there tonight, and if I'm not careful I would have to endure his snide remarks about, well, basically everything about me. Tonight, though, it will probably be centered on Derian Porter.

Oh yes, yet another reason why I'm dreading tonight. I have stupidly agreed to go with Derian Porter.

I don't even know what possessed me to say 'yes'. It kind of just popped out, after worrying all day about having to go alone and walk around with my jam donut while everyone is linked by the arms and stealing kisses. The Harvest Festival Fair is known for being a couples' affair. It is tradition for the boys to ask the girls to accompany them, which is romantic and great, but not when you're one of the girls who don't receive notes taped onto your locker or slipped into your notebook. So when Derian sauntered over and leaned against the locker beside mine, I guess I was getting desperate.

I can't believe I allowed myself to feel desperate.

_Stop it, Madge. He's been nothing but sweet to you after that incident during the wrestling competition. _

The doorbell rings and I dash to the door to slip on the boots Mae laid out for me, silently thanking her for not picking out heels. My clomping boots announce my arrival as I rush down the stairs, and Derian looks up at me. His mouth falls open and I blush, but he quickly closes it and smiles warmly at me_._

_Relax, it's going to be fine. You have company now, and a nice one at that. _Derian angles his arm toward me as I step beside him._ You might even have fun_.

I smile back.

Mae enters from the kitchen to see us off with a few words of warning to Derian that causes me to blush and his cheeks to turn a bright shade of pink. As I cross the threshold, my shoulder brushes against the coats hanging on the rack and I grab one despite the mild temperature. The last time I left it behind, I paid for it dearly by having to share the warmth of that horrible, rude and insensitive prick, and admit to enjoying it. I gulp.

"I hope we don't run into that idiot Hawthorne tonight," Derian says suddenly.

The mention of him snaps me out of the embarrassing memory and I dart my eyes to Derian, worried that I have unconsciously betrayed my thoughts aloud. I sigh in relief when I see that he isn't looking in my direction at all.

"Is he going to be there?" I ask, hoping he doesn't hear the note of curiosity in my voice. I don't know if I'm hoping for a yes or a no.

"Of course, he goes every year. Not sure if you know this, but Hawthorne has a reputation. Different girls every year, if you know what I mean."

'_No'. I was hoping for a 'no'._

"Oh," is all I say.

_Fine. I wasn't expecting to have fun in the first place._

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><p>I try to coax Katniss into coming with Thom and I to the Harvest Festival Fair, even though I know what her answer will be.<p>

"I can't," she says as expected, and launches into a long explanation of urgently needing to help Prim make bundles of goat's cheese to trade at the Hob tomorrow. I nod like the understanding friend I am, but secretly think that Prim is more than capable of curdling goat's milk and wrapping it in basil on her own. Thom shrugs, not bothering to tease Katniss anymore because her response is always the same, bids her goodnight, and we make our way to the fairgrounds, a field just down the road from school.

Like every other year, the place is already filled with eager young couples determined to soak up as much of the night as possible. Strings of lights hang above us, disguising the stars and the fact that we are in a deserted field. There is music playing from large speakers at various points, though it is barely heard above the gushes, laughter and carefree conversations. Thom and I dive for the free beverages, and I take a swig out of my bottle of orange juice, a rare treat, savoring the sweetness. An irrational anger at the wealthy for having the option of drinking it anytime threatens to bubble over, so I down another mouthful and force myself to enjoy this opportunity while I can. As we stroll past the stalls, I avoid the heartbroken glances in my direction, and there are more than usual tonight. Apparently, that incident with Miranda didn't slip under the radar, so the females in our school became bolder as they have discovered that I actually have a heart, says Thom. Ha. If only they knew who was responsible for that.

Just as her image forms in my mind, she steps out from behind a tent and I almost choke on my drink when I see her hand clutching Derian Porter's arm. I watch him lean close to her ear and whisper something, which tugs her lips into a small smile as she nods shyly. My fingers tighten around the glass bottle, not caring if it shatters because it would be the safer thing to break if tossed up with Derian Porter's jaw. The slime disappears into the crowd, and Madge visibly relaxes.

I am shoved forward and my hand tips. Orange juice dribbles down my white shirt. _Perfect. Another earful from Hazelle Hawthorne._ "What the hell?"

Thom smirks and tilts his head toward Madge. "Stop being an ass and go to her." With that, he salutes me and darts away into the crowd, leaving me with protests hanging on my lips and a bright orange stain down my chest.

I grit my teeth and sweep the last droplets hastily off my shirt. I spot a bin behind the girl Thom so desperately wants me to talk to, or maybe I refuse to see any other bin but that one, and saunter toward it. Madge is rubbing her arm absentmindedly, and it is so familiar and evokes the images I've been trying so hard to push away that I nearly abandon my trip to the bin. She catches me before I can, and I tell myself that it would be rude to ignore her now, so I should probably go up and say something. And throw my bottle, of course.

I approach her and she lifts her chin to hold my gaze. If she were any other girl, my first instinct would be to compliment her. It should be my instinct now, because from her soft curls to her long legs, she is breathtaking. But what tumbles out is, "I see you remembered to bring a coat."

Stupid.

Madge squints, trying to figure out if I am teasing her or being my usual snide self. She goes with the latter. "I see you didn't. Trying to trick another unsuspecting female into 'sharing your body heat'?"

Woah. Sharp tongue. I ignore the blow. "I see you're here with the creep who forced himself onto you. A _bit _desperate aren't you, Undersee?"

This makes her fume, I can tell from her scorching eyes, making the blue more brilliant against her fair skin. For someone who dishes out insults so glibly, she fails miserably at taking them.

"Derian asked and I said yes-"

"To him? Out of all the others who dared to ask you?"

She does not meet my gaze and a thought occurs to me.

"Was he the only one who asked you?" I ask, unable to believe that no other male plucked up the courage to win over the Mayor's daughter.

A blush creeps to her cheeks and she shifts uncomfortably.

All intentions of taunting her are blown out the window as I stand there and gape. _Why not?_ I aim my question toward the general male population. _Are you blind?_

Madge bites her lip.

_Apparently so._

"Why are you here?" she asks, slipping her hands in her coat pockets.

I stare at her. "Because I always come-"

"No, I mean, why did you walk here? Can't be to talk, since I'm so despicable to you, so what?"

Wrong and wrong. I did come here to talk to you. You are not despicable. You drive me insane with just one gesture. All I have to do is look at you to remember the feel of your skin against my hand, and remember how much I wanted you then. How much I want you now.

"Bin," I mutter, holding up the empty bottle. I reach around her and she backs up slightly, as afraid of the contact. I feel her tiny breaths on my neck, her soft tendrils of hair on my cheek. She smells of flowers again. The bottle clanks into the bin, and I draw back. We are both still for a second, then Madge mumbles, "You have juice on your shirt."

It is so irrelevant and so Madge that I laugh, breaking the tension. This makes her laugh too, a clear sound so beautiful I swell with pride at being able to elicit it out of her. As the laughter dies down, I clear my throat and Madge cranes her neck to inspect all the tiny lights above us. It is clear that neither of us want to acknowledge whatever just happened. The conversation we launch into is strange in it's own, it's lighter, less cutting, more playful.

"What happened? Saw a hot girl and got distracted?" she teases.

Something like that. "Thom was being his usual idiotic self."

"Is Thom the tall boy who was with you before?"

She noticed. "Yes, don't get any ideas though, you're not his type." I don't know what is making me flirt so carelessly, but I can't stop. It's so easy to lose myself with her.

"Oh yeah. Apparently I'm the only girl from Town who doesn't appeal to you Seam boys."

Wrong again. "Where did your date go off to anyway?" I ask to veer away from the subject.

"Oh, he said he was going to get us drinks," Madge says.

_I doubt it_. I rise slightly on my toes to glance over the top of the crowd, and surprise surprise, Derian is not at the drink stand. When I look back at Madge, her face falls at my silence, "I'm not going to get my apple juice anytime soon, am I?"

I watch as she sighs and slumps on a crate next to the bin. Closing her eyes, she murmurs, "Guess I was expecting it because I don't feel so bad. Or maybe it's because you're here so I'm not exactly humiliated."

_Wait, was that a backhanded compliment? _

The impossible thought dissipates into the cold night air as I watch her, eyes closed, arms wrapped around her chest, eyebrows furrowed, trying to make sense of the idiot's betrayal. Trying to convince herself that she isn't hurt. She looks so vulnerable, so different from the caustic girl who always has a smart insult to hurl back at me, that my insides churn.

_I will wring Porter's neck if he dares show his face around me again._

Some insane desire to hold her overtakes me, so before I do anything incredibly stupid, I let out a long, heaving sigh. "Okay, I don't think I can stand hanging around here while you're busy moping."

Madge glares at me, like she cannot believe such an insensitive human being exists. I can't believe it either, if my mother ever finds out how I am behaving right now… "I didn't ask you to, remember? _You_ came for some absurd, unfortunate reason."

I am about to take back what I am about to offer the ungrateful brat, but I remember the unadulterated look of hurt on her face and swallow the urge to wring her skinny neck as well. "Let's go somewhere else," I say.

Madge's mouth flies open as if to fire a comeback at me, then snaps shut when my words finally hit her. I fix my gaze on the crowd, though everything is a blur and the only thing that matters is her answer.

"Okay," she says softly.

She pushes herself off the crate and looks up at me with such hope, such expectation, that I tear my gaze away, angry with myself for suggesting the walk because it is sure to disappoint her. It won't even help her at all.

But I want her to come. And from her compliance, it seems that she wants the same thing. So I start moving through the crowd before my common sense pulls the strings of my lips and they utter something I am sure to regret.

The walk is quiet and slightly awkward because we are not exactly each other's choice person to be around, but Madge looks content as she brisk-walks next to me, so I shove my hands in my pockets, more than happy to extend the silence.

"Was she your girlfriend?" she pipes up after about forty steps.

"Huh?"

"Miranda," she clarifies, ducking her head, but not before I catch the pink rising in her cheeks.

"Uh," I scratch my head, "We went out once."

"Oh," she says.

The weak attempt at conversation dies out and reverts back to the rhythmic scraping of our boots on gravel, until I finally stop in front of a formidable pile of coal debris.

Madge arches an eyebrow. "Is this-"

"The slag heap, yes," I say. I don't even know why I brought her here. Stupid hormones.

I wait for the disdain that I get so often from Katniss, but Madge's expression is unreadable. She steps onto the hill tentatively and squeaks when the slag engulfs her boot. But she digs her other foot into the hill, pushes her coat sleeves up, and races to the top. She laughs and collapses on the slag.

It is my turn to raise an eyebrow. "It's just…I was never allowed to play with mud as a kid," she explains.

I roll my eyes. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but this," I wave to the heap of coal debris, "isn't mud. It's _slag_."

"Well, this _slag_ is your idea of a romantic getaway."

"At least I have one," I counter.

"At least I don't go around spreading diseases," she retorts.

I step forward, because she cannot beat me at my own game, but my tongue refuses to cooperate so I resort to pinning her with what Posy calls my 'scary stare'. A smug smile spreads on Madge's face because she knows she has won, the annoying Townie, and she sighs, hugging her knees.

"I bet you brought Miranda here too and smiled and talked like what you're doing with me," she teases, gazing up at the night sky.

"Ha, yeah that's one way to put it," I smirk, recalling the finer details of that new years party. Ahem. Focus, Hawthorne.

Silence settles over us again, it does that a lot, but it is comfortable, undemanding, and somewhat familiar. I realize it reminds me of Katniss and quickly will it away. I think the fact that Katniss and Madge are friends makes it difficult for me not to compare them, so I try and pretend that Madge isn't associated with Katniss at all. It helps keep the hostility at bay.

"Tell me something," she says.

She is talking an awful lot tonight. "What?"

"I don't know, anything." She rests her chin on her knees. "Your family?"

My throat feels dry and I clear it. "I have two younger brothers and a younger sister. Rory's twelve, Vick's ten, and Posy's only three. They're a bunch of troublemakers," I say, my voice embarrassingly tender even though the description is chiding. Madge's lips turn up.

I decide that I am not going to risk revealing my soft spot for my siblings to Madge Undersee, so I turn the question back to her. "What about you?"

"I'm an only child."

"I know that," I glare, because her tone suggests that I'm an idiot for asking a question with an obvious answer. "Tell me about your family."

It is the wrong request. Her face closes off, her eyes glaze over, and her smile disappears. "Well, you know my father. And you've probably heard about my mother."

I nod. The condition of Mrs. Undersee isn't so secret anymore, things spread like wildfire in District 12. I recall seeing her once a long time ago, when Madge and I were only children, and if my memory is anything to rely on, Madge resembles her a lot in appearance. Mrs. Undersee, who shuts herself up in the house all day, who the rumors say is sick. Very, very sick. I suddenly feel bad for knowing before hearing it from Madge herself, because it should've been her secret to share.

"That's all there is to tell, really," Madge's voice is quiet, guarded. _No, no, no. _She picks at a loose thread on her coat sleeve, refusing to let me see her eyes, to unravel the other secrets that hide there.

But she's given me enough. Enough to see that she is lonely. Dreadfully and painfully so.

That desire is back again. The yearning to hold her, to shield her from anything that could ever steal the rare, carefree laugh I was fortunate enough to bear witness to. I know that offering words of comfort it isn't one of my strong points, so I give in.

I tread up the pile of slag, and she follows me with her eyes, somewhat confused but fine with the fact that I'm moving closer. Blue is the last thing I see before I place my hands on the sides of her face and press my lips against hers.

She freezes, from shock, from inexperience. I draw back and open my eyes, in time to see hers flutter close and a sigh escape her pink lips. I take it as an invitation and lean in again, deepening the kiss. My fingers dig into her silky curls, the pretty blonde curls I've so longed to thread my fingers through, and the light blue ribbon slips off. Her lips are answering, willing, allowing me to show her, to comfort her. And I do.

When we're finally breathless, Madge is the one who pulls away, and I draw in a sharp breath. I notice that her light blue dress has coal smudged all over it. "I'm sorry," I say, gesturing to the stains, though I mean more than that. _I'm sorry that you're lonely. I'm sorry about your mother. _

_I'm sorry for kissing you without your permission._

At that, she meets my gaze. Her eyes are desperate, searching. For what, I have no idea, but they hold me there until she breaks away. I might be mistaken, but she looks almost…crestfallen.

"I should go," she mumbles.

No, stay. "Oh. Yeah."

"Derian," she adds.

I nod and push myself reluctantly away from her, my feet sinking into the slag. Madge stands and dusts her dress quickly. She steps past me and walks briskly toward the road, pausing once to glance back at me.

"Bye, Gale."

Not a 'see you', or even a 'goodnight'. But 'bye', a word so final that it is like she knows that this, whatever this is, ends here. That the glimpse we both got of Something Better will be another bottled secret tossed into the ocean of her blue eyes, unmentionable and irretrievable.

I clench my hands.

Good.

Because how can a Mayor's daughter and a Poacher from the Seam expect otherwise?

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

You guys, I think that was it. It feels strange to be ending the story here, but for all we know, it didn't end here, did it? ;) I started this fanfic because, in tumblr terms, like all of you I JUST HAD TOO MUCH GADGE FEELS AND IF I DIDN'T WRITE I WOULD BE SOBBING ALL DAY. I think it was the right decision because not only was it therapeutic, it was unexpectedly rewarding.

'What Nettles Me' was an exploration of one possible way Gale and Madge could have interacted before his famous 'Pretty Dress' comment on Reaping Day of the 74th Hunger Games, so I only intended it to be a few chapters long. After Chapter 5, I would imagine Gale reverting back to hostility and biting remarks when it comes to Madge, and Madge, ever so eager to snap back, would treat him the same way to hide her growing feelings for the boy with the strawberries. It wouldn't be until the 74th Hunger Games that Madge and Gale would find their way back to each other, and you can read all about that in 'Night and Day' by the Canidae and 'Unexpected' by jennycaakes. Both of those stories are my personal favourites, so be sure to check them out!

My sincere thanks to all those who have taken the time to read this written form of my Gadge Feels. I hope it made you feel all kinds of feels.

To every single one of my reviewers, you have no idea how precious a review can be! It never fails to brighten my day, so thank you again.

GADGE 5EVER

Sera out!


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